


Basalit-an

by FoxNonny



Series: gra - dilseacht - cairdeas [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, GET IT, Horny, M/M, but only because bull is constantly horny on main, it's 3.30 am, quick conversation introspective piece, some mentions of really really abstractly alluded to bdsm dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 06:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: Mahanon Lavellan has just solidified an alliance with rebel mages, and not everyone approves. A conversation about leadership and trust, with some very early feelings involved.





	Basalit-an

**Author's Note:**

> So, order-wise chronologically (if anyone is keeping track), this would so far be the first piece in the gra-dilseacht-cairdeas series - before O M'anam for sure anyway. I mean damn we're all the way back in Haven in this one and Bull's still calling Mahanon "Lavellan" in the internal monologue. 
> 
> Oh, and in case it bears mentioning, *Bull's views on mages do not necessarily reflect the views of Nonny*
> 
> I thrive off comments, kudos, and positive vibes.

Haven isn't that big of a camp, and it's a lot more cramped now with all the mages Lavellan brought back from Redcliffe. Cramped, and unpleasantly tense. 

It feels like Bull can't go two feet in Haven without overhearing an argument or disturbed mutterings from all sides. A lot of the mages don't seem too pleased about the accommodations or the Chantry presence, shivering in their robes and casting dark looks at the few templars wandering about the camp. The soldiers of Haven don't seem terribly pleased about the sudden influx of mouths to feed, nor the very nature of their new allies. 

_Allies_. Bull's mouth twists at the thought. It's not how he would have handled the mess at Redcliffe, that's for sure. 

It's in the interest of escaping the tense bickering noise of camp that Bull finds himself wandering into the nearby forest, patchy dustings of snow and soggy earth kicked up in his wake. He keeps the camp in his sight - years of training and worst-case scenarios have left him with little desire to wander too far afield - but the sounds fall away to a distant murmur, and he's able to take in a few grateful lungfuls of crisp, clean air in an amber afternoon sun. 

He almost misses the slight, hooded figure sitting on a coiled root protruding up from the foot of an enormous pine, their back to the camp, slouched and still. If he'd been a different person, had a different life, they would have been very easy to overlook. 

But Bull doesn't overlook things. He can't. And he's come to know the shape of this particular stranger pretty fucking well over the past few months. 

Lavellan looks up as Bull approaches, dropping his hand when he recognizes him (and Bull doesn't miss the sparks weaving between his fingers, ready to strike, and his lips tighten a bit - _mages_ ). 

"You look way more conspicuous with a hood up like that than with it down," Bull says, reaching over and gently tugging the soft wool cowl off Lavellan's head, the elf's wild dark curls springing up in the wake of the cloth. "Like you're trying to be the world's worst assassin, or something."

"I'd take that over being the-  _Creators_ , 'Herald of Andraste', I can't tell you how much I hate that title," Lavellan mutters sourly, adjusting the hood about his shoulders. 

Bull leans up against the tree, crossing his arms. "Hiding, Boss?"

Lavellan grimaces guiltily. "Taking a short break, I suppose. You might have noticed I'm not exactly popular right now." Lavellan sighs. "The last few people in Haven who couldn't believe I was really the elf everyone was making such a fuss about are quite happy to believe it now that I've irreparably ruined their lives. Unfortunately they seem to be under the impression that their 'Herald' is utterly deaf." 

"Really? With your ears?"

Lavellan makes an awkward sound that's halfway between an offended huff and a laugh. "They only seem to notice the ears when they're complaining about how much of an elf I am." He looks up at Bull with tired eyes. "You think I made the wrong decision in Redcliffe."

Bull shrugs easily. "It doesn't matter what I think." 

"It does to-" Lavellan bites his tongue and looks away, frowning. "I... value your input."

_He's getting better at it,_  Bull thinks.  _Masking that naked honesty a little. Not enough, not nearly enough, but he's learning._

"Well, I can't say I'm thrilled about the idea of half an army of powerful people with grudges and personal vendettas running around unchecked," Bull says. "I wouldn't trust too many people with that kind of freedom, never mind a bunch of mages who've already kicked up one rebellion and nearly brought about the end of the world. But you have cause to see the situation differently, and I can respect that, even if I don't like it." 

Lavellan nods, and smiles, though it's a bit crooked. "Thank you for your honesty."

"I doubt you get a lot of it, in your position."

"It comes in different forms." Lavellan shakes his head. "Vivienne really has a way of saying 'my dear' that makes you feel about one inch tall, you ever notice that?"

Bull actually shivers a bit. "Yeah, I get what you mean."

A moment passes in silence - well, relative silence. Luckily it's more wind in the pines and melting snow dripping from heavy boughs than anything else, but there is the distinct sound of a small  _bang_ and quite a lot of shouting back from the direction of camp, causing both Bull and Lavellan to wince.

"I was never exactly popular back with the clan, either," Lavellan says eventually, softly. "I wasn't raised with them initially, and my birth clan's a bit... obscure. Firsts are kept sort of separate from everyone else, and I've just, um, never exactly been good with people. But at least there, everyone's still family in the end. You might not get along with everyone, but you know they'd have your back, and they knew that you'd have theirs." 

Lavellan's head drops, his hands gripping his arms. 

"Here... I want to do right by everyone, and fix this all somehow, but- it doesn't seem as though too many people trust me, and the ones that do, well, it's not _me_ they trust in the end, is it? It's Andraste, or the Maker, or some obscure concept of a Herald that speaks for their gods. And I'm not supposed to trust anyone else, either. I know I'm not exactly a spymaster's pupil, but I'm well aware that everyone's come here with their own motives in mind, and I'm..." Lavellan breathes, and laughs. "Rambling. And whinging. Honestly, I promised myself I wouldn't inflict my whinging on anyone."

"I don't know, I think you've got cause to, uh, 'whinge'," says Bull. "You're right, everyone's here because of their own motives and goals. You didn't really get a choice in the matter."

"Neither did you," Lavellan says quietly. 

Bull blinks, a bit thrown despite himself. It's not the answer he was expecting, and he finds himself having to remind himself  _again_  that this elf is far sharper than he lets on.

Honesty, after all, is its own kind of weapon, one with a lot more power to wound than any well-crafted falsehood. 

"That's different," he says, a tad too late for it to come off as an easy, instantaneous response, no matter how casual his tone. Lavellan's ear flicks, clearly catching the hesitation. "Still, if you didn't have that mark in your hand, do you think you'd be here?"

"If I didn't have the mark in my hand I'd have died in that explosion," Lavellan says flatly, raising a brow. "And given that I don't believe I was chosen by some divine purpose, I'm inclined to think it was more happenstance that I have this... thing, over any of the likely far more qualified people who attended the Conclave. If I didn't have the mark..." Lavellan runs a hand through his curls, closing his eyes. "No, if I think that way, I'll have failed before I ever truly started. I have this mark, however much I might not want it, and I have this title, however little I think of it. And if they've decided that means I'm the one who gets to make the decisions around here, they can bloody well cope with the decisions I choose to make." 

Again, it's not the response Bull was expecting. He wouldn't look for that kind of white-knuckle determination in a quiet, shy, awkward little forest elf. 

"And that's why you're the Boss," Bull says, putting a hand on Lavellan's shoulder without thinking. It's not a fair move, and Bull knows it, even as Lavellan stills under his palm like he's afraid Bull will take his hand away if he moves, stiff and nervous but very carefully leaning into his touch all at once. 

Bull is aware of Lavellan's attraction to him, to say the least. And so are the Ben Hassrath, because what Bull knows, they know, and that's just how it works. They've encouraged the relationship "however it develops," all but explicitly suggesting that Bull find his way into Lavellan's bed, and it's tempting. Really fucking tempting. Everything in Lavellan's voice, the way he's holding himself right now under Bull's hand, is crying out for someone else to take control. Bull could break him, crack him open with a few easy touches, and take his time putting him back together again. 

Lavellan would like that. Bull - well, every time he thinks he has the elf figured out, he manages to swerve; manages to duck beneath, above, and around Bull's expectations. It would be fucking fascinating to pull it all apart and see what comes out of it, not to mention fun. The Ben Hassrath would be pleased. 

Very pleased.

It's not on the list of things Bull should consider, keep in mind, or remotely care about, but he knows that there's a chance he'll have to take everything he knows about Lavellan and use it to destroy him one day. A slim chance, so far, but he's seen slim chances become cold reality before. It's not his job to consider, keep in mind, or remotely care about Lavellan's feelings should that day ever come. 

But it would break the elf in two if he gave himself to Bull the way Bull would want, the way Lavellan seems to want, only for Bull to... well, do his job. Do right by the Qun, at all cost. 

There's a few things Bull doesn't like mixing with his work with the Ben Hassrath if he doesn't have to, and sex is one of them. Well, alright, so long as everyone's having fun and there are no hard feelings, sex is fine. Sex with feelings is something else altogether. 

He likes Lavellan. How far that goes isn't really worth examining right now, but he knows he likes Lavellan. If it comes down to it, there are other, far more humane ways to destroy him. 

And anyway, there are other... recent developments, to consider. 

"Besides," Bull says, giving Lavellan's shoulder a gentle squeeze, a bit of a rueful pang tugging at him as Lavellan's breath catches.  _It would be so easy, so damn fascinating_. "I get why you chose to give the mages a break."

"Oh?" Lavellan's voice is rough already.  _Man, the things I could do to you._

"Mm." Bull leans in with a grin. "That Tevinter guy's got a nice ass, yeah?"

Lavellan squawks at this, leaping to his feet, and Bull lets him go. "I- that- he-  _that_ did  _not_ factor into my decision-making!"

"Sure, but you're not denying that you've had a look," Bull says, enjoying the deep flush flooding Lavellan's dark, freckled features. "If it helps, he seemed pretty pleased about this alliance." 

"I- I'm ever so glad," Lavellan says, touching his twitching ears with a mortified grimace. "He's- he's a very nice man-"

"That's not the impression I got."

"Fine, alright, 'nice' isn't really the word, he's-"

"Gorgeous?"

"I- I mean- yes  _alright_ , but anyone with  _eyes_  could see that," Lavellan says, folding his arms with a scowl. 

"I'm pretty sure if you wanted you could make it a decree of the Herald that all Tevinter Altuses must forgo clothing for the foreseeable future," Bull says. "You know, make it a penance thing, for killing Andraste or whatever-"

"You know, I think I've taken a long enough break, something's probably caught on fire in the ten minutes since I've been out of camp," Lavellan says, hiking up his hood over his  _very_  twitchy ears. "Good day to you serah  _asshole Qunari_ -"

"Oh, come on, let me walk you back to camp," Bull says with a laugh, gently knocking Lavellan's hood off his head again. "That way Leliana won't give you an earful about wandering off alone, yeah? Speaking of assassins."

"Were we speaking of assassins?"

"Well, we were speaking of  _asses_ -"

" _Ugh._ " 

They walk back to Haven together, Bull teasing Lavellan all the way and Lavellan helplessly unable to get his twitching ears under control, and while the mood in camp when they return is still teeth-grindingly tense, Lavellan manages to walk through the huddles of mutterers and arguments and sideways glances with a determined smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is an entirely self-indulgent fic because 1) I could write pages and pages and pages of Bull's perspective on Mahanon and little moments like this because I fucking love them to death and 2) I recently got promoted to Head Bitch in Charge at my paper and already I'm having to make decisions where it just feels like there's really no winning, someone's gonna get pissed off either way, so I'm really excited to dive back into my DA:I bullshit cause honestly what is the point of having OCs if you're not gonna project your own life issues on them like sorry Mahanon I love you but I gotta park my imposter syndrome and anxiety SOMEWHERE. 
> 
> if you read this and enjoyed it please let me know! if this is something people are interested in reading, more random fill-in pieces like this one might show up in future alongside the longer, more plot-related shorts in this series. thank you for reading and for being wonderful :)


End file.
